Fledgling
by Alexa Piper
Summary: Because in the end, Jonathan chose what was best for Mavis. JxM. T for supernatural violence/to be safe.
1. Reality

Jonathan sighed, adjusting his position on the shingles ever-so-slightly so as not to slide off the roof of the castle again. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the young man kept them wide open, drinking in the sight of the cloudless azure sky that stretched above him. Reclining on the roof in nothing but a pair of board shorts, the human revelled in the warmth of the late afternoon sun that washed over his skin.

His reverie was disturbed by a familiar voice. "And _what_ do you think you're doing up _there_, Jonny?"

"Thinking," Jonathan shot towards figure on the ground. "Why do you care?"

Frankenstein flinched at the uncharacteristic venom in his 'cousin's' retort. "But it's the middle of the day!" The blue monster cried, waving massive hands above his head. "Please come down from there; you'll be too tired for the party tonight."

Jon rolled his eyes, standing up in order to better see his uninvited guest. "No, it's late afternoon, so leave me alone!" he snapped.

Frankenstein recoiled before shuffling out of Jon's sight, and several heartbeats later the young man heard the hotel's massive doors slam shut. Jon swayed on his feet before running shaking hands through his shock of orange hair. Tilting his head back, the young man took one last look at the sun in all its glory before slipping into the chimney, shimmying down to the kitchen; after living in Hotel Transylvania for three years, he had become very familiar with the castle's maze of corridors and numerous shortcuts.

He slipped out of the fireplace once he was certain that the room was empty, praying that Quasimodo had not arrived at the hotel yet. _Why did I have to wait until the last minute to make this decision?_ he griped, tiptoeing down the corridor and utilising the castle's 'secret' passageways in order to avoid the ambling form of Frankenstein.

Scaling the stairs two at a time, Jonathan hurried towards his destination, afraid that if he slowed even the smallest amount that he would lose his resolve. Bursting through the designated door, Jon leaned against the doorframe with a gasp, his blind rush halting abruptly at the sight of his soon-to-be father-in-law.

Count Dracula turned to face the intruder, raising a perfect eyebrow at Jon's panting form. He rose from the desk, standing silently as the human got his breathing under control. "Vat may I do for you?" the vampire murmured, clasping slim fingers behind his back as Jon straightened up. The vampire was truly a sight to behold, the stereotypical figure of a legendary bloodsucker. And yet, the legends never seemed to touch upon his natural wit and gracious hospitality. Red-brown eyes met piercing blue, and the sight sent the human's breathing out of control once again.

Dracula froze at this reaction, so different from the boy's customary witticism. He wordlessly ushered Jon into the chair, noting that the young man's hands were trembling. "Vat's wrong?"

Jonathan sighed shakily, running a hand through erratic locks. He got to his feet and began to pace the shadowed room, mumbling under his breath. Dracula folded his arms, tapping the toe of his expensive, freshly-polished shoe against the stone floor. After a fourth circuit of the room, Jon paused by the curtained window and heaved a heavy sigh. "Drac, you know how I'm supposed to announce the engagement tonight?"

"Vat about it?" the Count asked, moving across the dimly lit room in a flash to place a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder.

Jon looked up into the kindly vampire's face. "I-I can't do it," he choked, his voice cracking.

Dracula tightened his grip on Jonathan's shoulder, concern seeping into his own voice. "Vy?"

"Because I'm a damned _human!_" Jon shrieked, tearing away from the vampire's grip and resuming his pacing. Dracula stood in place, stunned as the human began to shout. "I can't promise her anything! So long as I'm mortal, I can't marry Mavis, because I know that it'd kill her to watch me grow old and die! You only Zing once, after all!" With a strangled sob, the man collapsed to sit on the edge of Dracula's coffin.

Dracula did not like where this conversation seemed to be heading. "Jon," he sighed, moving to sit next to the human.

"I could never ask Mavis to do it, so I'm asking you," Jonathan stated firmly. "You once told me that I'd make a pretty cool vampire."

"You do not know vat you are asking."

The man swallowed, fisting shaking hands in his lap. "No, I'm pretty sure that I do."

The Count sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Alright," he groaned. "But Mavis vill kill me for it."

"The blame lies with me," Jonathan insisted, getting to his feet as Dracula did.

"Are you ready?" the vampire queried, his voice gentle.

Jon gulped, nodding as his breathing hitched. "W-what do I _do_, exactly?"

Dracula could hear the man's frantically beating heart, as though it were trying to achieve its allotted lifetime of quota before being prematurely stilled. "You vill be alright," he murmured, placing gentle hands on Jon's upper arms. "I vill drink your blood, and you then drink some of mine."

Jon screwed up his nose. "That sounds a little weird. Don't you inject me with venom or something?"

The Count shook his head. "No, I am not a snake. It is an ageless procedure, so do not question my method."

"Do you b-bury me t-then?" the human stuttered, his fingers moving to grasp the fabric of Dracula's waistcoat.

The vampire chuckled involuntarily. "Of course not. Vere do you get such stupid ideas?"

The man tried to smile, but all he could manage was a tiny quirk of the lips. "From other humans." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily. "Just… p-please, do it now, before Mavis wakes up and comes looking for me."

The Count sighed. "Stay still." At his words the human blanched, twisting his fingers tightly in the fabric of the vampire's waistcoat. Dracula tightened his grasp on Jon's arms, leaning down to brush his lips against the pale throat. At the sensation of freezing flesh pressing against his jugular, Jon stiffened, but forced himself to remain still.

Without further delay, Dracula opened his mouth wide, pressing the tips of pearly fangs against the stark white throat and biting down hard. Jon yelped, eyes flying open as he instantly tried to tear away from the vampire. The hands on his arms held him in place, and he whimpered as Dracula began to swallow.

A dull, aching numbness began to steal through his limbs, and Jon panicked, following the basic human instincts to fight for his life. All he managed was to struggle feebly as a pained cry twisted free from his mutilated throat. Dizziness washed over the dying man, and he moaned as his racing heart began to slow. The air seemed to stick in Jonathan's throat, his pained gasps growing shallower and quieter as the vampire continued to swallow.

Dracula's hands changed from restraining to supportive, and he withdrew from the man's dripping neck. Jon's mouth opened wide as he gave a strangled scream at the movement, fingers losing their already weak grasp on the Count's waistcoat. Moving as quickly as he could without further injuring the man, Dracula placed his own wrist against his bloody mouth, tearing at the skin. Blood began to pour out of the wound instantly, and the vampire pressed his wrist against the human's lips. Jon drank at the older man's quiet command, the simple motion of swallowing almost too strenuous for his dying body.

Reclaiming his wrist, Dracula laid the man on the cold stone floor, sitting beside him and watching as the wound in his wrist closed over instantly. Jon lay still, gasping weakly and reaching up to scrabble at his torn throat. After several tense seconds the human stiffened, arched his back, and let loose an unholy scream which echoed throughout the entire castle.

Dracula wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, turning his head away as Jonathan began to writhe on the floor, grasping at his throat and chest as he drew breath, only to scream once more. The tortured sounds increased in their intensity, peaking as Jon threw back his head, fangs glistening in his wide-open mouth.

The door flew open. "Jonny?" Mavis screeched, speeding to kneel by her fiancé. Slim fingers hovered over his writhing form and the man stilled slightly at the woman's touch, crying her name.

She rounded on her father. "How _dare_ you?" the vampiress hissed, getting to her feet and gripping the collar of his shirt, noting with dread that Jon's screams had quieted to soft cries.

Dracula swallowed, his eyes darting to the struggling figure on the ground before returning to his daughter's face. "Mavis, listen-"

"_You killed my fiancé!_" she screamed, forming a fist and slamming it into the vampire's face.

The Count tore free of her grasp, straightening to his full height. "He _asked_ me to!" he bellowed.

The woman took a step back, her face slackening. "What?" she breathed, her own eyes straying to the gasping form by her feet. Pale fingers clutched at a heaving chest, and Mavis felt her heart begin to break as Jon arched his back at an alarming angle, sunset-coloured eyes wide in terror as his breathing finally stopped.

"Mavis, he needs to feed," Dracula murmured.

"On it," the girl breathed, zipping out of the room and returning almost instantly with a bottle of substitute. She removed the lid with trembling fingers, kneeling with her father beside the tense form of her fiancé. At Dracula's direction, the woman dribbled the substance over her fingers and slid the appendages into Jon's mouth at his heart stopped beating.

The man swallowed instantly, and that tiny amount was enough – his heart restarted, and with a choked gurgle, Jon breathed in once more. Mavis removed her fingers before pressing the mouth of the bottle against his lips. Jonathan drained it, his fingers weakly grasping the young woman's wrist. Once he was finished, Dracula placed a hand behind the fledgling vampire's back, helping him to sit up. Jon hunched over, wrapping scrawny arms around his heaving torso before sending the Count a wan smile and mumbled thanks.

Jon turned towards his fiancé, mouth open to form the beginnings of an apology and explanation. Before he could even get the first sound out, a slender hand collided firmly with his cheek, and the slap was forceful enough to knock the man back against Dracula.

"_Dammit_, Mavis, what the hell was that for?"

**Because I don't see it working if Jon remains human.**

**I would love it if you guys reviewed!  
**


	2. Specious

**Thanks for all of your reviews, guys!**

**This is going to be a series of related oneshots, so enjoy!  
**

Jon forced himself to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. In light of the occasion he had been dressed in a rather traditional manner, right down to the high-collared cape. The fledgling rubbed at his eyes, the lack of customary contact lenses producing a slight amount of irritation; with his transformation, the young man's eyesight had improved to superhuman levels. Jon sighed, slumping against the wall – it was these small changes, the sudden increase in strength and vision, and the overwhelming _thirst_ – which had tormented his mind in the five hours since his transformation. Mavis had appeared every hour with another bottle of supplement, and thrust it into Jonathan's hands silently before flitting out of sight in a flash of violet.

He had never before seen her quite this angry.

Rubbing at his temples, the young man groaned and slipped down the wall to sit on the floor. _I'm an idiot_. He had broached the topic only once before, but Mavis had simply brushed it off with a flippant remark. They were young and in love, and there was all the time in the world to think about such morbid matters.

Perhaps he should have consulted her before making such a hefty decision. Tugging at the collar of his black button-up shirt, Jonathan sighed and leaned his head back against the rough stone wall, closing his eyes. The abnormally slow heartbeat resonating from his chest resounded in the fledgling's ears, and he allowed still-shaking hands to drop loosely to his lap. _Gosh, I'm so tired…_

Footsteps roused the young man from his thoughts, but Jon didn't move. He wasn't in anybody's way, so they should have no cause to bother him.

The fledgling mentally groaned as the footsteps paused when they reached him, and with the quiet rustle of clothing a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder. Jonathan flinched at the contact, opening his eyes to glare half-heartedly at his 'cousin'.

Frankenstein was not a monster to judge others. With a quiet "Oh," he moved to sit beside Jon, content with the simple task of keeping the boy company. Perhaps they would joke about this in a decade or two, but right now Frank sensed that the figure sitting on the floor beside him was in little mood for quips or witticisms. The heavy silence weighed upon the newcomer's ears, so Frank began to talk in a low voice, telling stories of his past adventures. It didn't matter that Jonathan sat in silence, without any form of acknowledgement, or that the stories had been told countless times before – all that mattered was the camaraderie, the fact that Frankenstein abandoned his preparations for the party in order to keep the fledgling company.

As the large monster launched into his extravagant – and highly exaggerated – narrative about his trip to Spain back in '85, Jon silenced him with a sidelong glance. "Did I do the wrong thing?" the fledgling whispered, his tongue thick with thirst.

Frankenstein's gaze softened, and he placed an arm around the young man's shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. "Of course not. It was never anyone's choice but yours. Mavis'll come around, just give her a couple of days."

Jon's eyes widened. "You've seen Mavis?" he breathed, twisting to face his companion.

Frank rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. "Well, yeah. She's kinda hard to miss, stomping around the kitchen and swearing up a storm whenever she's getting more supplement for you."

Jon pressed the palms of his hands against stinging eyes. "Damn it," he hissed before swallowing several times in an attempt to soothe his parched throat.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," the older monster advised. "It was bound to happen."

"But I shouldn't have done it _this way_," the young man groaned, letting his hands drop back into his lap as he shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

"The point is, it's over and done with. Stop beating yourself up about the past," Frank admonished.

"I know, I know," Jon sighed, running his tongue over unfamiliar fangs.

"Besides, you've gotta look on the bright side," Frank continued, deciding to risk a bit of a joke. "Quasimodo can't try to cook you anymore."

Jonathan chuckled, sitting straighter and grinning at his companion. "Oh, he'll probably still try – there's too much bad blood between us for him to just stop."

Frankenstein waved a dismissive hand through the air. "Nah, you're right – but this time, it'll be _you_ threatening to eat _him!_"

Their laugher was interrupted by the sound of a woman clearing her throat. Both men jumped, and Jon glanced somewhat sheepishly up at his fiancé. Mavis simply quirked an eyebrow before thrusting the bottle into his hands, turning to disappear back down the corridor.

"Mavis, _wait!_" Jon called, leaping to his feet and reaching towards her. The vampiress didn't so much as pause, and the fledgling was left to grasp at tendrils of violet light that dissipated like fog in the morning sun.

Slumping his shoulders, Jon sank back into his previous position on the floor. "Crap," he hissed, feeling his eyes fill with frustrated tears. He held them back, keeping his gaze on the smooth stones beneath him as Frank performed the laborious task of getting to his feet.

"I'll go and talk to her," the monster rumbled. "Drink your blood stuff, and stop moping."

Jon kept his eyes on the floor as Frank ambled down the hallway, waiting until the man's footsteps died away before glaring at the glass bottle in his hand. The sight of its sanguine contents sent his mind into overdrive, and Jon abandoned all restraint, tearing off the lid and sculling the liquid. It soothed his irritated throat and immediately calmed his frenzied thoughts, and the fledgling held the now-empty bottle up to the light, tilting it slightly as he pondered this dependence on the ruby fluid. He had never been one to smoke or take drugs, but Jon supposed that this was what addiction was like.

Shakily standing, Jonathan trudged down to the kitchen, washing the bottle and placing it upside-down on the rack to dry. His thirst slaked for the time being, the fledgling made his way to the entrance hall's doors, peeking around the corner at the assembled guests. A steady stream of newcomers entered the spacious room, and Dracula was there to oversee the entire operation, greeting each guest personally.

Turning to head back upstairs, Jon froze as Murray piped up from the crowd. "Hey, shouldn't Jonny be out here by now?" His query was met by assorted cries of assent, and the fledgling found himself praying that nobody thought to check the kitchen corridor.

"Maybe Quasimodo's trying to cook him again!" Griffin cried, and several guests immediately started in the direction of the kitchen.

"That is impossible, as Quasimodo is not here yet!" Dracula announced at the top of his lungs. All heads turned towards the vampire, startled by his uncharacteristically ruffled demeanour. "Jon is currently indisposed, but should be downstairs later in the evening in order to join the festivities."

Jon's fingers strayed to the ridged scars that had formed across one side of his throat. "Indisposed, huh?" he chuckled, continuing in his journey up the steps. Upon reaching the door to his own private room, Jon paused, leaning his head against the polished wood with a groan. For once, the shrunken head attached to his door handle remained mercifully quiet, and Jonathan began to laugh.

What was the point of moping upstairs when it wouldn't change anything?

Squaring his shoulders, the fledgling turned to head back downstairs and talk to the regular guests whom had become his surrogate family. As Jon walked past the door adjacent to his, it flew open, and he paused at the sight of his angel.

Mavis leaned against the doorframe, dry blood still crusting her hands and clothing. She was breathing heavily, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Before the man could so much as open his mouth, the woman had thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his chest with a sob. Jon gently returned the hug, guilt washing over him as she continued to cry. After several tense moments, Mavis spoke, gripping the fabric of her fiancé's crisp black shirt in her tiny fists. "You should have told me," she choked.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Jon breathed, stroking her ebony locks. "I was stupid, and didn't think."

"You're such an idiot," she grumbled, "but I forgive you."

Jonathan smiled as Mavis tilted her head back, and he stroked away the strands of dark hair that clung to her wet cheeks. Despite her puffy eyes and the red that flushed her face thanks to her tears, Mavis was still the most exquisite creature that Jon had ever laid eyes on. Grinning, he told her so, only to earn a light smack upside the head.

But at least his darling was smiling again.

**Thanks for reading!**


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